


Nightmare

by Portia77



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basically Porn, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have no shame, Kink, Marijuana, Modern Medicine, Porn, Sansa may seem OOC but I'll explain eventually, Surprise! - Freeform, TRASH ROMANCE, Weed, crack ships, just testing the waters to start, kind of excited though, more to come - Freeform, one shot for now, rushed first chapter, u aren't my mom, ugh i can't believe I'm posting this, ultimate trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portia77/pseuds/Portia77
Summary: People have turned away from him for a long time, so how did this slip of a woman – this bold, courageous, kind woman – manage to worm her way in, the way no one ever had before?





	Nightmare

With his heart pounding and his body soaked in sweat, he woke from his sleep with a jolt, lurching upright with wide eyes.

It’s still nighttime, not even past midnight. This room is familiar to him – one of the rare places in this world that he’s found peace – and with every familiar sight he studies, his heart rate slows into a steady thrum.

A tall white-framed window draped in navy blinds to hide the coming sunlight. His matching nightstand dresser and wardrobe, where an assortment of suits, tees and sweats await him. The laundry hamper with his dirty clothes from the week. Even the half-drunk beer sitting on the nightstand is comforting, left from two nights ago which he hasn’t gotten around to chucking.

His feet dangle over the edge of the bed now, touching plush carpet. It’s the only room in the house that’s carpeted, but it’s quality shit. Dense. Soft. His toes wriggle against the sensation, and he drags a palm over his mug and sighs.

It’s _way_ too fucking early to get up for the day, but there’s no chance he’ll fall asleep any time soon.

He glanced over his shoulder to the other half of the bed, and his heart did that fucking twisting thing of relief it always does when he looks at her. She’s sleeping peacefully wrapped in only the sheets – it’s all both of them use, since it’s gotten warm out again – and he wonders idly when she had time to put her nightie back on after they went to bed.

He was fairly sure he’d destroyed it when he yanked it off her only a few short hours ago.

After making sure he hadn’t woken her up, he got to his feet and lumbered down the hall, past the kitchen and straight for the balcony, where he could clear his head and maybe make some sense of his fucked up life.

As he walks down the hall, he can’t help thinking about how long he’s lived here, about how differently he felt about this place when he first moved in. How it had gone from being a couple of cold, empty rooms and a fridge and toilet, to something warm and cozy and safe. Neutral colours pave the way to the balcony, where sits a BBQ, a patio table and two massive white chairs.

He’s not stupid, of course. He knows how it happened. He knows the reason this house feels like a home is the same reason his heart twists at the sight of the woman in his bed. The same reason his mouth damnably twitches every time he lays eyes on her after being separated for a period of time. The same reason he’s been carting around a black velvet box with a diamond ring for almost three months now.

He gets how his house has become a real place of refuge from the world, but fuck him sideways, he doesn’t know _why._ He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, done to deserve her. He can be a cruel bastard and it’s not a secret. The men who work for him fear him, and their ladies don’t ever invite their man’s boss to dinner unless courtesy dictates.

And even then, he refuses for the most part.

People have turned away from him for a long time, so how the fuck did this slip of a woman – this bold, courageous, _kind_ woman – manage to worm her way in, the way no one ever had before?

Hoping it’ll calm him down, he pulls a joint from his stash over the mantle – _because he has a motherfucking mantle now –_ and a lighter, and steps into the cool air, warm enough to not warrant a jacket.

As he inhales the smoky, skunky taste of weed and releases slowly, smoke clouds the air around his head. Another three puffs and his body is relaxing, his eyes begin to feel dry, and his heart is finally resting at a slow, even pace.

“Hey.”

She’s standing in the moonlight rubbing at her sleep-addled eyes, creeping onto the balcony as silent as a shadow. His little shadow, he thinks wryly, and squashes the burning red rims of his paper joint between his thumb and forefinger, extinguishing it without a sound.

“What are you doing up?” she yawns, padding over in white plush slippers.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he rasps, and pauses to cough and clear his throat. “Did I wake you?”

But she shakes her head, smiling at him groggily, smacking her lips to clear the dryness of her mouth. Her hands find him, clutching the bare skin of his chest. He’s only wearing boxers, and her fingers slide over his waistband as she slinks her arms about his waist.

“Another nightmare?” Concerned blue eyes peer up at him, and in the moonlight, they’re almost glowing. Soft and dewy, like the kind in old films from the 50s.

He doesn’t answer as her hand strokes his chest absent-mindedly, studying him in case he tries to lie. Her other hand hangs around his waist still, and he uses the opportunity to curl an arm about her and press her firmly to him. He takes a moment to lean in and inhale the scent of her shampoo.

It’s coconut today. And now weed, he realizes, as he exhales the remnants of smoke into her fiery hair.

“Gimme that,” she murmurs, and with a gentle touch (always gentle) she pulls the joint and lighter away from him. A couple seconds later, and she’s tucked it between her puckered lips and taken two puffs, almost finishing it off entirely.

It’s no secret that two puffs are all it takes to make her lightly stoned. It _is_ a secret that weed makes her horny as all hell, and he waits patiently for the effects to take hold.

“What was it about?”

He grunts in confusion, but she doesn’t smile.

“Your nightmare,” she says calmly, returning the spliff to him. “What was it about?”

He sighs. Sometimes he wishes his old lady weren’t so damned inquisitive, but the wish vanishes as quickly as the puffs of smoke. He doesn’t mean it; her persistence is half the reason they wound up together.

Fuck – oftentimes it’s also what _keeps_ them together.

“I don’t remember,” he croaks, and it’s only half a lie. He doesn’t remember the specifics, but it’s a dream he’s had enough to get the gist.

Besides. It’s a memory he knows well.

“Baby,” she breathes, warm air from her lips brushing his cheek. “Tell me?”

But he’s not in the mood to share, especially not with her tucked right close to his body, her chin resting square on his solar plexus. She tucks her chin to press a sweet kiss on his chest, and then another, nuzzling against him like he’s a goddamned upright pillow.

His hand slides into the roots of her hair, massaging her scalp. “Light weight,” he tells her, but she’s not offended by his words, and she even grins cheekily up at him, that moonlight catching the corner of her blue eyes.

“You feel so warm.” Her hands start rubbing up his chest and down, raking her nails gingerly along. It likely wouldn’t matter if she’d dug them in hard enough to draw blood. After all he’s been through, it would be a fucking tickle.

Laughing is the last thing he’s got on his mind right now, though, as she slowly positions her thighs around one of his and begins to rock against his leg.

His feels his eyes darken at once as his fingers toy with the straps of her nightie.  

“Thought I shredded this.”

She smirks a bit. “You mean when you ripped it off me caveman-style? Nope,” she pops the p with a wicked grin. He doesn’t think this woman has ever had a wicked grin before meeting him, but there’s no mistaking the coy smile as her hand wraps around his dick and squeezes through his boxer shorts.

He lets out a groan and a curse in one breath, and that’s all the invitation she needs to slide her hand into the waistband of his underwear and start stroking him with one fist, pausing to cup his balls—

“Maybe you should try again.”

The whispered challenge takes a second to process, before he realizes she’s referring to her damned nightie.

Three lumbering steps are all he needs to press her back into the safety of the apartment, where no eyes can see what he does next. She’s removed her hand from his dick, staring up at him in blatant anticipation, panting visibly.

He sets the remnants of the joint back on the mantle and plucks at the collar of her nightie with both hands and then _rip!_

Ruined scraps of fabric flutter to the ground, and she’s standing there, naked as her nameday, soft pink tits ready to be sucked into his mouth, with thick thighs and a narrow waist and he knows if she turns around, he’ll see the most delicious, round, spank-worthy ass in all seven kingdoms.

And it’s all fucking _his._

The weed sets all his senses alight, and he’s becoming painfully aware of how hard he is. He doesn’t have to ask her if she wants him again tonight – he can see it in her eyes, red-rimmed but coherent and bright.

“Get in there,” he rumbles, jerking his head to their bedroom, and when she turns to scamper away in excitement, he snaps his hand out to leave a smack on – lo and behold – the most spank-worthy ass in all seven kingdoms.

She’s waiting for him on their bed by the time he joins her, sitting prim and proper in the midst of their spacious king bed, custom-made to accommodate his gargantuan size.

He takes his dick in one hand and pulls at it roughly as he speaks. “You want me to fuck you?”

She nods, visibly excited.

His voice is deep and dark when he speaks. He does it on purpose – it’s his commanding voice, his _alpha_ voice, as she called it.

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” she breathes, and he glimpses her hand sliding over her own thighs to rub at her clit, swallowing thickly.

“On your hands and knees.”

 _“Yes.”_ Her hand moves faster.

So does his.

But he lets himself go almost as quickly, realizing he won’t be able to pull off two orgasms right now. After feeling wide awake minutes ago, he’s knackered once more, and sex with her is the best way to really knock him out into a deep sleep for the rest of the night.  

She doesn’t get into position right away, and that’s fine by him. He towers over her with her sitting on the bed, and he ends up bent over her, flattening her to the mattress as they kiss which – fuck him sideways – he never saw the pleasure in, until he kissed _her_.

The foreplay is short and to the point, but neither of them have the stamina for anything elaborate and luxuriating. He does suck both of her nipples though, because he knows she likes it and because she makes this sexy, throaty moan when he does it—

 _“Ooohhhffffuckkkk,”_ she whimpers.

Yeah, just like that.

Her belly button is just one pit stop on his journey south, and it ends with him licking a stripe along her pussy, where she is already wet and sticky and salty.

She’s ready.

He doesn’t need to order her as he pulls away. Like an eager puppy, she rolls onto her belly and pulls her knees under her, lifting her ass high in the air. He spots one arm of hers reach out and pull a pillow under her head, and he nearly comes at the sight because she _knows._ She knows that laying her breasts against the sheets and her head on a pillow with help keep her comfortable and that bracing her fists against the mattress gives her better leverage against the power of his thrusts.

_Fuck._

They’re goddamned experts at this.

He contemplates fucking her asshole for only a second before sliding one, then two fingers into her hot pussy, enjoying the sensation of her walls clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growls, sliding his hand in and out at a steady pace. And then he says, because he knows it gets her going, “What a good girl… Getting so wet for my dick.”

“Please,” he hears her gasp, and _oh,_ he nearly laughs at how polite she is even now, ass in the air and being finger-fucked by him.

“Please _what?”_

“Please use your dick,” she begs, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. Her toes dangle off the edge of their bed, but she’s in the perfect position for him. All he has to do is stand there, hunched over her, and fuck her as fast and hard as he fucking wants.

Which, tonight, happens to be pretty fucking fast and hard.

He takes hold of her pelvis and she doesn’t even have to move, only lay there on her chest, bent in half, as he snaps her ass back and forth to the tempo of his thrusting. It’s why this is his favourite position – his hands can move her as pleases. He’s in control of her body.

But _fuck_ him, he knows she’s the one with all the power here, in truth. He knows she calls the shots. It might not always look it, but it’s true. He’s a servant to her bidding, a dog to his mistress.

She’s starting to tighten and flutter now, and as much as he wants to draw it out, he’s relieved too. He really is exhausted.

“Come now,” he orders, bending over her and reaching to pinch and rub at one breast while his other hand holds him upright. He slides his hand down quickly to her clit, and rubs it the way he’s watched her countless times, the way he’s done countless times.

“ _Now_ , Sansa,” he growls, drawing out his thrusts. He can’t hold off much longer. If she wants to orgasm tonight with his dick in her, she’s got to finish fast.

“Say my name,” he says, resuming his position with both hands on her hips, pulling himself in and out with vigor. “Tell me who’s your daddy, baby.”

“You,” she cries, almost delirious as she climaxes around his cock. “Greg! You are! Gregor! Gregor! Fuck, fuck, _fuck!”_

He loses it then. Hearing her call for him has always been too much to handle.

Blinding pleasure grips him and he spills inside her, milking his orgasm for all its worth. Seconds past before he realizes he bellowed her name as he came, but he’s not embarrassed.

Not a fucking chance.

Sansa is plainly ready to fall asleep where she’s slumped, toes dangling over the bed, her bottom left high in the air, swaying lightly from side to side as though deciding which way to fall.

He scoops her up with one massive arm and hauls her back up to the head of the bed, shamelessly curling himself around her, tucking his softening dick into her backside.

She pats his hand clumsily where it rests, clutching her tits. “Wake me if you can’t sleep?”

Something close to laughter rumbles in his chest, but he’s too tired to try to contain it.

“Sure,” he says, because if _that’s_ the reaction he gets every time he has a nightmare, every time he starts thinking back to that night, well…

It’s not a bad way to fall asleep, he thinks.

Not a bad way at all.  

**Author's Note:**

> Allow me to preface this by saying I LOVE San/San fanfiction, but I was feeling really worked up about some of the completely unhealthy garbage that gets published or makes it way onto this site, so I was trying to spitefully come up with the worst pairing in my head.
> 
> Rather ironically, I came up with this nonsense and accidentally fell in love with it and now I guess I'm trash, too.
> 
> Did anyone guess who it was before the reveal? Kudos to you if you did. 
> 
> This is really cracky, and I am sure several will be complaints, but I don't think this comes close to some of the fucked up shit I have seen posted on here in the past. And at least this version of Gregor isn't a complete sicko - more to come on why that is, if I can get around to writing it.
> 
> A heavy plot is slowly developing in my pea-size brain...
> 
> Thanks for reading! Apologies if it wasn't what you were hoping for :)


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